“Do you think your father would let us use the coach-house?”
“I’m sure he would,” Allan declared. “There are three rooms there he never uses, and—hello! there’s McConnell now.”
McConnell was on his wheel, and was riding with his hands in his pockets—a trick to which he was addicted. When he saw the boys he made so sudden a movement to extricate his hands and grasp the handle bars for a quick stop, that he had a narrow escape from a tumble in the gutter.
“McConnell,” said Owen, “if you think you can do that again, I’ll go and get my camera.”
“I hope you didn’t worry,” said McConnell, coolly. “I can stop and dismount with my hands in my pockets and not spill the machine either.”
“You ought to have joined the circus,” Allan said. “Or Buffalo Bill,” added Owen.
“Oh, say!” exclaimed McConnell, “did you hear that Buffalo Bill was going to be at Fitchville next month?”
“The Camera Club will have to go over,” said Owen.
“The Camera Club?” queried McConnell.
“Yes, McConnell; you didn’t know, did you, that you are a member of the Camera Club?”